At  85  Cedar  St. ,New  York.January  4th,190a 


dear  Nelson: 

I  want  to  congratulate  you  personally  on  the  beautiful  job 
your  house  did  on  ray  "Uncle  Remus"  book.    It  was  very  pleasant 
indeed  to  have  a  job  of  this  kind  go  through  so  smoothly  and  satis- 
factorily. 

I  take  pleasure  in  sending  herewith  two  copies  of  the  book: 
one  of  them  for  yourself  personally  —  which  I  hope  you  will  accept 
with  my  compliments  —  and  the  other  one  for  Prof.  Brander  Matthews. 
I  hope  that  Prof.  Matthews  will  add  this  to  his  library  and  also  that 
he  will  find  it  possible  to  read  it. 

A  great  many  interesting  letters  concerning  the  book  have 
been  received  by  me,  and  some  day  I  will  let  you  see  them.   I  believe 
you  will  be  gratified  to  knor  what  these  letters  state  about  the 
workmanship. 

Wishing  you  all  prosperity  through  the  coming  year,  I  am 

Sincerely  and  fraternally  yours, 


Mr.  Nelson  Macy, 

441  Pearl  St.  , 

New  York  City. 


L// 


A/^y 
/L^vc^c 


/ 


/ 


tTV-)       •< 


MEMORIES 

OF 

JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 


THIS  IS  NUMBER^  ^"2LOF  THE  THREE  HUNDRED 
COPIES  OF  THIS  BOOK  WHICH  HAVE  BEEN 
PRINTED  — ALL  FOR  PRIVATE  DISTRIBUTION. 


f. 


"  /  am  merely  a  simple-minded  old  fellow  ivho  is  very  anxious  for  a  few 
chosen  friends  to  like  him.  Many  children  and  a  great  many  dogs  are  fond  of  me, 
and  that  is  a  good  test.'' — JOEL  CHANDLKR  HARRIS,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend. 


"UNCLE  REMUS" 


Joel  Chandler  Harris  as  Seen  and 

Remembered    by   a   Few 

of  His  Friends 


Including  a  Memorial  Sermon  by  the 

Eev.   James    W.   Lee.   D.  D., 

•  nd     a     Poem     by 

Frank  L.  Stanton 


Privately     Printed 
Christmas,   10O8 


Copyright, 

BY  IVY  L.  LKK 


CONTENTS 

PAGHR 

FOREWORD 15 

JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS — THE  MAX  .  .  »  .  .  17 

UNCLE  REMUS,  BY  GRANTLAND  RICE  .  .  .  .  .  79 
THE  CHARACTER  OF  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS, 

BY  REV.  J.  W.  LEE     ...       .       .  .  .  .  88 

IN  MEMORY  OF  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS, 

BY  FRANK  L.  STANTON        .       .        .       .  .  .  .119 


M8017S1 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS      ...        .        .        .        Frontispiece 

Uncle  Remus'  Idea  of  Christmas        .        .        .        .        .        .  18 

Where  Joel  Chandler  Harris  was  Born 19 

Grounds  Surrounding  His  Childhood  Home     ....  21 

Church  Where  He  Attended  Sunday  School       ....  28 

Advertisement  which  Started  Him  to  Work      ....  27 

Printing  Office  of  "The  Countryman"        .         .         .         .         .  29 

First  Page  of  "The  Countryman" 81 

View  from   Printing  Shop   Window    .         .         .         .         .         .  38 

Another  View  from  Printing  Shop  Window      ....  85 

House  Where  Harris  Lived  at  Turnwold    .....  39 

A  Contemporary  of  "Uncle  Remus" 41 

A  Surviving  Daughter  of  "Uncle  Remus"        .        .        .        .  48 

A  Negro  Cabin  on  Turner  Plantation        f        ....  45 

Fac-simile  of  Harris'  First  Poetry 49 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harris  and  Grandchildren  .....  58 

"Uncle  Remus,"  as  an  Artist  Idealized  Him     ....  57 

Some  of  Harris'  Original  Manuscript 59 

Harris  Family  at  Snap  Bean  Farm   ......  63 

Side  View  of  the  Harris  Home  .......  67 

Title  Page  of  "Uncle  Remus  Magazine"  .....  71 

Veranda  of  Home  at  Snap  Bean  Farm       .....  75 

Joel  Chandler  Harris  at  Sixteen  Years  of  Age  ....  85 

At  Twenty-one  Years  of  Age 89 


ILLUSTRATIONS-Continued 

PAGE 

At  Twenty-four  Years  of  Age     .        .        .  .        .  .  .93 

Harris,  Grady,  E still  and  Roberts     .        .  .        .  .  .        95 

At  Thirty-four  Years  of  Age      .        .        .  .        .  .  .        97 

At  Forty-one  Years  of  Age .101 

Andrew  Carnegie  and  Joel  Chandler  Harris  .        .  .  .103 

Evan  P.  Howell  and  Joel  Chandler  Harris  .        .  .  .109 

Harris  at  Fifty-seven  Years  of  Age  .        .  ..  ..      115 


UNCLE  REMUS'  IDEA  OF  CHRISTMAS 


Ftt-imile  of  Intcription  by  Jotl  Chandltr  Harrit  in  a  copy  of  "Untie  Rtmui,  Hit 
Songt  and  Hit  Sayingi,"  presented  to  Horace  R.  B.   Allen, 
tf  New  Y"«rk,  Cbriamat, 


FOREWORD 

I  HE  purpose  of  this  volume  is  to  introduce 
a  few  friends  to  the  great  fund  of  geni- 
ality and  good  cheer  which  was  wrapped 
up  in  the  personality  of  Joel  Chandler 
Harris.  He  was  one  of  those  rare  beings 
in  whom  the  most  perfect  humor  was  personified  and 
from  whom  it  was  continually  exhaled,  and  his  life  and 
writings  have  added  delights  innumerable  to  both  child- 
hood and  manhood.  This  little  book  also  embodies  the 
hope  and  belief  that  many  coming  generations  will  find 
in  "Uncle  Remus"  that  same  inexhaustible  storehouse 
of  quaint  philosophy  and  homely  humor  which  this  de- 
lightful character  has  been  to  so  large  a  company  for 
now  more  than  thirty  years. 

These  lines  are  written  with  the  memory  of  having 
heard  the  Uncle  Remus  stories  read  in  earliest  child- 
hood, and  of  having  enjoyed  the  acquaintance  of  Joel 
Chandler  Harris  personally.  He  was  always  most 
natural  to  those  who  knew  least  of  his  genius.  So 
all  the  children  with  whom  he  came  in  contact  seemed  to 
find  in  him  a  kindred  spirit.  Strangers  who  went  to 
see  him  found  him  difficult  to  know,  but  with  children  he 
was  always  at  perfect  ease. 

There  is  no  pretense  of  literary  finish  in  these  pages. 
The  idea  has  been  merely  to  record  the  essential  facts  of 
Joel  Chandler  Harris'  life  and  to  relate  a  few  personal 
memories  of  him,  largely  in  the  language  of  his  own 
friends.  I  have  also  been  privileged  to  reproduce  a  con- 
siderable number  of  hitherto  unpublished  photographs 


16  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

of  Harris — most  interesting  human  documents.  In 
this  effort  I  have  had  the  very  friendly  co-operation  of 
the  Harris  family,  and  I  am  especially  indebted  to  Mrs. 
Joel  Chandler  Harris  for  the  loan  of  some  very  rare 
pictures.  The  management  of  the  Uncle  Remus  Maga- 
zine have  been  particularly  obliging,  and  to  their  cour- 
tesy is  to  be  credited  the  opportunity  to  reprint  the 
poem  by  Grantland  Rice.  Messrs.  D.  Appleton  &  Co., 
publishers  of  the  Uncle  Remus  books,  have  kindly 
allowed  the  use  of  the  "Brer  Rabbit"  cut  on  the  cover. 

The  Memorial  Sermon,  which  is  included  in  this 
volume,  was  delivered  on  the  evening  of  Mr.  Harris' 
burial  by  a  close  personal  friend.  Dr.  Lee  was  one  of 
that  coterie  of  genial  men — Joel  Chandler  Harris, 
Henry  W.  Grady,  Frank  L.  Stanton,  Clark  Howell, 
Evan  P.  Howell,  Wallace  P.  Reed,  Sam.  W.  Small, 
and  James  W.  Lee — to  whom  for  many  years  the  edi- 
torial rooms  of  the  Atlanta  Constitution  were  the  scene 
of  such  infinite  good  fellowship. 

To  Mr.  Frank  L.  Stanton  I  am  indebted  for  the 
privilege  of  re-publishing  the  beautiful  elegy  in  mem- 
ory of  his  friend,  which  will  be  found  at  the  close  of 
this  book.  I  hope  sincerely  that  the  lines  herein  printed 
will  in  some  measure  serve  to  develop  added  interest 
in  the  life  and  work  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris — one  of 
the  few  Southern  authors  who  can  be  called  truly  great. 
Besides  being  great,  he  was  one  of  the  most  lovable 
of  men,  and  if  these  pages  make  this  human  side  of  the 
man  better  known,  they  will  have  been  well  worth  the 
effort.  IVY  L.  LEE. 

New  York,  December  1,  1908. 


JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 
THE  NAN 

|OT  many  men  have  lived  such  a  life  as  did 
Joel  Chandler  Harris:  He  was  born  in 
11849,  in  the  quiet  town  of  Eatonton,  Put- 
|nam  County,  Georgia.  It  was  a  simple, 
[old-fashioned  slave-holding  community, 
surrounded  by  little  or  nothing  of  romance.  His  father 
was  a  farmer,  and  he  died  while  the  child  was  still  an 
infant.  The  mother  was  very  poor,  and  the  boy  was 
probably  the  least  noticed  youngster  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

Some  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris'  childhood  playmates 
still  live  in  the  old  town  of  Eatonton.  One  of  them, 
Charles  A.  Leonard,  knew  the  boy  as  a  very  young 
child,  and  I  have  asked  Mr.  Leonard  to  relate  what  he 
remembers  of  that  early  period. 

"He  was  such  a  clever  little  boy,"  writes  Mr.  Leon* 
ard,  "that  my  parents  would  allow  me  to  go  around  with 
him,  I  being  a  stranger  in  the  town.  Our  playground 
was  divided  between  the  'Big  Gully,'  and  Mr.  McDade's 
livery  stable.  In  the  stable  were  fine  horses,  and  'The 
Gully,'  with  its  tributaries,  was  a  good  place  to  play 
hide-and-seek  in.  At  the  stable  we  oftentimes  had  the 
privilege  of  riding  the  horses  to  the  shop  to  have  them 
shod,  and  when  the  drovers  came,  as  a  special  treat  we 
were  allowed  to  exercise  the  horses. 

"Between  the  stable  and  the  'Big  Gully'  lived  an  old 
free  negro  named  Aunt  'Betsy  Cuthbert',  whose  abilities 


18  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

in  making  potato  biscuit,  ginger  cakes,  and  chicken  pies 
could  hardly  be  equalled.  There  we  often  remained 
while  she  dispensed  the  good  things  she  made. 

"We  entered  the  school  taught  by  Miss  Kate  David- 
son, where  there  was  little  play,  except  recess.  It  seemed 
then  they  taught  from  sun  up  to  sun  down,  with  the 
exception  of  a  recess  for  dinner.  After  a  year  or  two, 
we  entered  the  male  academy.  It  was  not  long  before 
we  made  a  good  friend  of  one  of  the  larger  boys  whom  I 
will  call,  as  we  did,  Hut  Adams,  and  when  out  of  school 
we  were  boon  companions,  playing  marbles,  jumping 
holes,  and  enjoying  similar  amusements.  The  things 
that  Hut  did  we  thought  were  right,  even  to  foraging 
on  Mr.  Edmund  Reid's  watermelon  patch,  as  well  as 
Col.  Nicholson's  and  Aunt  Becky  Pike's  plum  and  peach 
orchards — just  enough  for  us  to  eat. 

"We  organized  what  was  known  as  the  'Gully  Min- 
strels.' Our  hall  was  the  'Big  Gully.'  Hut  was  man- 
ager, I  was  treasurer,  and  Joe  the  clown,  with  a  fiddle 
he  couldn't  play.  But  he  would  make  a  noise  that  would 
bring  down  the  house.  The  price  of  admission  was  ten 
pins,  and  it  was  not  long  before  the  treasurer  was  stuck 
on  pins,  ancTno  exchange. 

"Hut,  at  about  that  time  became  the  happy  possessor 
of  a  shot  gun  in  which  Joe  and  I  were  as  happy  as  he. 
Nearly  every  Saturday  we  would  be  off  for  the  fields 
OP  woods,  Joe's  and  my  part  being  to  carry  the  game 
and  get  a  chance  to  shoot  just  once  when  the  hunt  was 
over.  Besides  his  love  for  hunting  nothing  gave  Joe 
more  delight  than  to  play  pranks  on  us  and  many  were 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


19 


Canning  Factor?  in  F.atonton,  Ga. ,  "which  stands  on  the  site  of  tht  house  in  which 
»e/  Chandler  Harris  •was  born. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


21 


Vina  of  the  grtundi  surrounding  the  simple  home  in  Eatenton,  Ga . ,  "where 
Joel  Chandler   Harris  was  born. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  23 


Methodist  Church  in  Eatonton,  Ga,,  ivbere  Joel  Chandler  Harris  attended 
Sunday  School  ivhen  a  child. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  25 

they,  he  always  getting  the  best  of  it,  and  enjoying  it  to 
the  full  extent." 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  Joe  Harris  was  a  natural 
boyish  boy.  But  life  was  a  very  serious  matter  those 
war-time  days,  and  the  years  that  could  be  devoted  to 
school  were  but  few.  The  next  step  in  Harris'  life  is  told 
in  his  own  words  in  an  interview  he  gave  to  the  Atlanta, 
Georgia,  News,  a  few  years  before  he  died,  as  follows: 

"There  came  a  time  when  I  had  to  be  up  and  doing, 
as  the  poet  says,  arid  it  so  happened  that  I  was  in  the 
post  office  at  Eatonton  reading  the  Milledgeville  papers 
when  the  first  number  of  The  Countryman  was  deposited 
on  the  counter  where  all  the  newspapers  were  kept.  I 
read  it  through  and  came  upon  an  advertisement  which 
announced  that  the  Editor  wanted  a  boy  to  learn  the 
printer's  trade.  This  was  my  opportunity,  and  I  seized 
it  with  both  hands.  I  wrote  to  the  Editor,  whom  I  knew 
well,  and  the  next  time  he  came  to  town  he  sought  me 
out,  asked  if  I  had  written  the  letter  with  my  own  hand, 
and  in  three  words  the  bargain  was  concluded." 

The  first  number  of  that  curious  publication,  The 
Countryman,  appeared  on  March  4th,  1862.  The  adver- 
tisement, inserted  along  with  others  seeking  to  sell 
"Hats"  and  merchandise  generally,  was  as  follows: 

WANTED 

An  active,  intelligent  white  boy,  14  or  15  years 
of  age,  is  wanted  at  this  office,  to  learn  the  printing 
business.  March  4th,  1862. 

This  advertisement  appeared  again  in  the  issue  of 
The  Countryman  for  March  llth,  but  was  omitted  from 


26  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

the  issue  for  March  18th.  Joel  Chandler  Harris,  then, 
had  found  his  "opportunity,"  about  this  date.  Whether 
or  not  the  "hats"  were  sold,  a  genius  had  been  discovered 
by  this  backwoods  publication. 

"The  Countryman,"  said  Harris  in  later  years,  "had 
no  predecessor  and  no  other  paper  has  succeeded  it.  It 
stands  solitary  and  alone  among  newspapers.  It  was 
published  nine  miles  from  any  post  office,  on  the  planta- 
tion of  Mr.  Joseph  A.  Turner.  On  the  roof  of  the  print- 
ing office  the  squirrels  scampered  about,  and  the  blue 
jays  brought  their  acorns  there  to  crack  them.  I  used 
to  sit  in  the  dusk  and  see  the  shadows  of  all  the  great 
problems  of  life  flitting  about,  restless  and  uneasy,  and 
I  had  time  to  think  about  them.  What  some  people  call 
loneliness  was  to  me  a  great  blessing,  and  the  printer's 
trade,  so  far  as  I  learned  it,  was  in  the  nature  of  a  lib- 
eral education;  and,  as  if  that  wasn't  enough,  Mr. 
Turner  had  a  large  private  library,  containing  all  of  the 
best  books.  It  was  especially  rich  in  the  various  depart- 
ments of  English  literature,  and  it  would  have  been  the 
most  wonderful  thing  in  the  world  if,  with  nothing  to  do 
but  set  a  column  or  so  of  type  each  day,  I  had  failed  to 
take  advantage  of  the  library  with  its  remarkable  assort- 
ment of  good  books. 

"Mr.  Turner  was  a  man  of  varied  accomplishments. 
He  was  a  lawyer,  a  scholar  and  a  planter.  He  had  a 
large  plantation  and  he  managed  it  successfully;  he  had 
a  considerable  law  practice ;  and  he  was  one  of  the  most 
public  spirited  men  in  middle  Georgia.  He  was  a  man 
of  strong  individuality;  he  had  pronounced  views  on  all 
the  questions  of  the  day.  I  once  heard  him  preach  a 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


27 


.£  fe« 

a  •« 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  29 


Printing  Office  at  Turnivold,  Ga.,  ivhtr€  "The  Countryman"  ivas  puhliihed. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


31 


THE     COUNTRYMAN, 


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M •*«.  uv.  *•  *rt*5***-<* " ••*''• (v™* , ^ •" "*^^ "T/iV™1**** 

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^*  ^ t   .   |C»-.— T^lZi^^^i--.  a-Tw^—..— !•**.•-«•.  .J~.*«>1 

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'***n^  *•' • 1 — r*~  •  -      .  p  — »**  ••  »r«  »  •*•  »IH 


Foe-simile  of  title  page  uf  the  first  number  of  iifhc  Countryman^  for  which 
Joel  Chandler  Harris  helped  set  the  type. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


33 


Outlook  from  the  voindotui  of  the  old  Turnivold  printing  office.      Scene  of 
Joel  Chandler   Harris'   early  life. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  35 


Another  "vitiu  of  the  Turner  Plantation  from  ?vindo-zvs  of  the  printing  office  of  tlTke 
Countryman  "  ibo-iving  hotu  nearby  tvere  the  '' 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  37 

sermon,  and  it  was  a  good  one,  too.  He  was  a  good 
writer  and  he  had  a  fine  taste  in  literature;  best  of  all, 
so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  he  took  an  abiding  interest 
in  my  welfare,  gave  me  good  advice,  directed  my  read- 
ing and  gave  me  the  benefit  of  his  wisdom  and  experi- 
ence at  every  turn  and  on  all  occasions.  For  the  rest,  I 
got  along  as  any  boy  would.  I  was  fond  of  setting  type, 
and  when  my  task  was  over  I'd  hunt  or  fish  or  read. 
And  then  at  night  I  used  to  go  to  the  negro  cabins  and 
hear  their  songs  and  stories.  It  was  a  great  time 
for  me." 

Joel  Chandler  Harris'  "opportunity"  then  was  to 
set  type  in  a  country  printing  office,  to  live  with  the 
family  of  the  proprietor,  and  to  listen  at  night  to  negro 
stories — the  same  stories  which  Southern  children  every- 
where had  been  hearing  for  generations.  Surely  not  a 
prospect  yet  of  developing  a  man  whose  genius  would 
attract  the  attention  of  the  English-speaking  world! 

J.  A.  Turner  was  a  most  unusual  man.  His  library 
was  unique  among  those  of  the  other  Southern  planters 
of  his  countryside.  As  it  was  among  those  books  that 
Joel  Chandler  Harris  used  to  browse,  as  it  was  there  he 
inhaled  that  fine  literary  taste  which  was  to  add  so  much 
richness  to  his  Art  in  later  years,  it  is  of  interest  to  in- 
quire just  what  this  library  consisted  of.  In  response  to 
questions  on  this  subject,  J.  A.  Turner's  son,  Mr.  W.  L. 
Turner,  of  Eatonton,  very  kindly  gives  this  information : 

"My  father's  library  has  been  divided  among  his 
heirs,  and  is  greatly  scattered,  but  from  recollection  and 
the  volumes  that  I  own,  I  can  give  an  incomplete  list  of 
the  authors  he  owned:  Shakespeare,  Moore,  Byron, 


38  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

Cooper,  Burns,  Swift,  Shelley,  Goldsmith,  Hood, 
Wordsworth,  Milton,  Tasso,  Scott,  Bulwer,  Holmes, 
Dickens,  Hugo,  Ballin,  Macaulay,  Hume,  Arabian 
Nights,  Gil  Bias,  Grimm's  Fairy  Tales,  Mrs. 
Hemans,  Junius  Letters,  Willis,  Clarke,  Bryant,  as  well 
as  several  works  on  Ornithology,  and  a  number  of  ency- 
clopedias. His  library  contained  about  1000  volumes." 
The  owner  of  those  books  was  also  the  possessor  of  a 
spirit  of  most  unusual  qualities.  The  few  files  of  The 
Countryman  which  are  still  extant  disclose  them  on  every 
page.  Possibly  the  reader  of  this  may  get  a  little  of  their 
flavor  from  this  valedictory  published  in  the  final  num- 
ber of  the  paper,  issued  in  the  autumn  of  1866: 


"  ADIEU 


"When  The  Countryman  was  established,  I  was  a 
Southern  planter,  the  highest  type  of  man,  as  I  conceive 
it,  that  the  world  has  ever  produced.  God,  through  the 
severe  chastisement  of  war,  has  made  me  no  longer  a 
Southern  planter.  This  type  of  man  has  forever  passed 
away.  I  have  a  home  and  a  country  no  longer.  Living 
in  the  spot  where  I  always  did,  I  am  nevertheless  an 
exile  and  a  wanderer.  The  independent  country  life  and 
the  home  of  the  planter  are  gone  forever,  and  The  Coun- 
tryman goes  with  them — farewell." 

It  was  among  such  surroundings  that  the  genius  of 
Joel  Chandler  Harris  was  nourished.  Among  the  trees, 
the  flowers,  the  birds,  the  rabbits,  and  the  squirrels,  he 
found — himself.  The  raw  material  with  which  he  was 
to  build  his  stories  in  later  years  he  found  amongst  the 
slaves  all  about  him.  The  character  of  "Uncle  Remus" 
itself  was  composite.  The  original  was,  in  most  re- 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  39 


Front  flew  of  the  Turner  Plantation  Homestead.      Joel  Chandler  Harris  occupied 
the  second  story  left  corner  room  "while  be  ivorked  on  "  The  Countryman." 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


A  contanporary  tf  George  Terrell,  the  original  "  Uncle  Remus,"  illustrating  tht 
type  of  man  w^«  impired  the  folk  sttriet  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


43 


A  surviving  daughter  of  George  Terrell.      She  is  noiv  eighty  years  of  age  and 
lives  in  Eatonton,  Ga. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


The  only  negro  cabin  yet  remaining  of  those  -which  stood  on  the  Turner  plantation 
•when  Joel  Chandler  Harris  lived  there  and  absorbed  his  fund  of  negro  folk-lore. 
The  negroes  are  descendants  of  the  Turner  slaves  "befo'  de  ivab." 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  47 

spects,  "Ole  Uncle"  George  Terrell,  a  negro  owned, 
before  the  war,  by  Mr.  J.  A.  Turner.  The  "little  old 
log  cabin"  where  George  Terrell  lived  was  still  standing 
until  a  few  years  ago,  but  has  recently  been  torn  down. 
Descendants  of  this  amiable  individual  yet  remain,  and 
one  of  his  contemporaries,  a  type  of  his  kind,  so  bent 
and  crippled  that  it  is  hard  to  tell  whether  he  is  man 
or  beast,  still  hobbles  about  the  town. 

In  the  ancient  days,  "Uncle"  George  Terrell  owned 
an  old-fashioned  Dutch  oven.  On  this  he  made  most 
wonderful  ginger  cakes  every  Saturday.  He  would  sell 
these  cakes  and  persimmon  beer,  also  of  his  own  brew, 
to  children  of  planters  for  miles  around.  He  was  accus- 
tomed to  cook  his  own  supper  on  this  old  oven  every 
evening;  and  it  was  at  twilight,  by  the  light  of  that 
kitchen  fire  that  he  told  his  quaint  stories  to  the  Turner 
children  and  at  the  same  time  to  Joel  Chandler  Harris. 
Men  now,  who  were  boys  then,  still  relate  their  joy  at 
listening  to  the  story  of  the  "Wonderful  Tar  Baby"  as 
they  sat  in  front  of  that  old  cabin,  munching  ginger 
cakes  while  "Uncle"  George  Terrell  was  cooking  supper 
on  his  Dutch  oven. 

Another  prototype  of  the  original  Uncle  Remus  was 
"Uncle"  Bob  Capers,  a  negro  owned  by  the  well-known 
Capers  family,  and  hired  out  by  them  as  teamster  for  the 
Eatonton  cotton  factory.  Joel  Harris,  before  he  went 
to  Turn-wold  to  set  type  for  The  Countryman,  lived 
with  his  mother  near  the  home  of  that  rare  old  darkey, 
and  it  was  from  his  lips  that  there  fell  many  of  the  won- 
derful tales  that  delighted  the  children  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. 


48  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

Although  but  a  mere  youth,  Harris  very  early  "burst 
into  print."  He  wrote  many  anonymous  articles  for  The 
Countryman,  but  the  first  compositions  to  which  he 
signed  his  name  were  brief  paragraphs.  The  first  poem 
to  which  his  name  was  signed,  appeared  in  The  Country- 
man dated  September  27,  1864,  when  Harris  was  a  little 
more  than  fifteen  years  old.  It  was  as  follows : 

NELLY  WHITE 

(Written  for  The  Countryman) 

BY    JOEL    C.    HARRIS. 

The  autumn  moon  rose  calm  and  clear, 

And  nearly  banished  night, 
While  I  with  trembling  foot-steps  went 

To  part  with  Nelly  White. 

I  thought  to  leave  her  but  a  while, 

And,  in  the  golden  west, 
To  seek  the  fortune  that  should  make 

My  darling  Nelly  blest. 

For  I  was  of  the  humble  poor, 

Who  knew  that  love,  though  bold 

And  strong  and  firm  within  itself, 
Was  stronger  bound  in  gold. 

And  when  I  knelt  at  Mammon's  shrine, 

An  angel  ever  spake 
Approvingly — since  what  I  did, 

I  did  for  Nelly's  sake. 

Again  I  neared  the  sacred  spot, 

Where  she  and  I  last  met, 
With  merry  laugh,  does  Nelly  come 

To  meet  her  lover  yet? 

Again  the  moon  rose  in  the  sky, 

And  gave  a  fitful  light, 
Which  shone  with  dreary  gleam  upon 

The  grave  of  Nelly  White. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


49 


,  \.'ff^  f. 
U*  «•<'• 

1  v       .  w    '«m/    itir..u/ti    fr,Mii 

t»*U  t->  N  •  '  :•*»  *r-t»r- 

|'M»;»"  »  •«.  '    *<  ih'f  m«t  ft  sr**i  uun 
•bcnn^-*  i* -i  <-..-• 

-  f-tffn^'l 

»rmv.*  "* 
S»T.2!U. 


OM^mirM^m 

r 

t  ,rfc.y».  f  ".  «r«f»  "«* '  '  3  *'  ^'i"  '(^Si' 
..     ^i#p«.  ^r^bii-h.. 


I'.iK  P«;»'.\m A«  *    n.imhw  <*f 

*  hav«  r 


IW»(V.<      >> 

•  A  d«^«'''' 


•Si! 

»K»c  r.U>i»  Ml  U*  *«bk  lh*  »U»»e  pnf** 
tn>o«^tutf   .»i.  ^   ^^^  ,.H.  ,,,;i<(W.  •      o.;.-  --  n!»i   <t  11  j-r  ccr.i   .1.4"  «  .«  U 

'*--•-  ««n  f.mrthouMnil;,,«bbiih*-«. 

•  "  ''Vf^'t.      '.  " 

.. 
.  **-i».      1  Sin*  uoe»in>t  ii 

. 


..n:,l.   Oi  [ 


•""•••  -       j>»r(i  ot  r  -beiintn.    ^^  h»j[  wool «*>««*•    DM'*  j«o  fo*iJ 

;  ...    »l>i>.  vi.-iiitT    of    \**n«.    WortHfrrd  _  tikww* 


Fac-simile  of  page  of  "The  Countryman"  for  September  2ft  1864,  containing  the  first 
verse  to  which  Joel  Chandler  Harris  signed  his  name. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  51 

Turn-wold  was  in  the  direct  path  of  Sherman's 
"March  to  the  Sea,"  and  it  was  that  famous  event  which 
proved  to  be  a  turning  point  in  the  life  of  Joel  Chandler 
Harris.  General  Slocum's  staff  enjoyed  the  hospitality 
of  Mr.  Turner's  plantation  for  several  days,  and  when 
they  marched  on,  there  wasn't  much  left.  Young  Har- 
ris now  felt  that  the  time  had  come  for  him  to  "move 
on"  in  the  world.  Accordingly,  in  1865,  he  moved  to 
Macon,  Ga.,  where  he  worked  for  a  short  time.  Later 
he  found  employment  at  New  Orleans,  La.,  but  not  long 
afterward,  he  returned  to  Georgia,  and  lived  for  a  time 
at  Forsyth. 

The  year  1868  found  Joel  Chandler  Harris  on  the 
editorial  staff  of  the  Savannah,  Ga.,  News.  His  em- 
ployer was  W.  T.  Thompson,  author  of  "Major  Jones' 
Courtship,"  and  other  humorous  books.  During  the 
years  1869  and  1870,  Mr.  Harris  had  Frank  L.  Stanton 
as  an  office  boy.  While  in  Savannah,  Harris  married 
Miss  Essie  LaRose,  of  Canadian  birth,  with  whom  he 
lived  until  he  died.  Together  they  established  a  home, 
and  as  long  as  he  lived  that  particular  place — where  she 
was. — was  the  most  attractive  on  earth  to  Joel  Chandler 
Harris. 

Nine  children  blessed  the  union,  of  whom  six  are  still 
living — Julian,  now  succeeding  his  father  as  Editor 
of  the  Uncle  Remus'  Magazine,,  Lucien,  Evelyn,  Joel, 
Jr.,  Essie  LaRose,  now  Mrs.  Fritz  Wagner,  and  Mil- 
dred. The  methods  of  Mr.  Harris  in  training  his  chil- 
dren were  thoroughly  characteristic.  Upon  one  occa- 
sion, one  of  the  boys  of  the  family  seemed  to  be  living 
a  little  high.  Mr.  Harris  heard  about  it.  So  one  even- 


52  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

ing  at  supper,  when  that  particular  young  man  was 
present,  the  father  remarked : 

"Well,  I  certainly  had  a  mighty  good  dinner  at  the 
Aragon  Hotel  today." 

Everybody  was  surprised.  The  Aragon,  which  had 
just  been  built,  was  the  most  luxurious  hotel  in  the  town. 
All  ears  listened  to  hear  what  was  coming. 

"Yes  sir,  I  went  into  the  cafe,"  he  said,  "and  I  sat 
down  and  hollered  for  the  nigger  to  bring  me  one  of 
their  laundry  lists.  I  started  in  and  ordered  consomme, 
caviar,  lobster  a  la  Newburg,  hors  d'oeuvres,  spaghetti, 
chow-chow,  six  entrees,  and  topped  it  off  by  ordering  a 
quart  of  extra  dry.  When  I  finished  my  dinner  I  paid 
the  bill,  and  gave  the  waiter  a  $10.00  tip.  He  handed  me 
my  hat,  looked  at  me  with  an  admiring  grin  and  said, 
'Uh-uh!  You  sho  mus'  be  dat  young  Mister  Harris' 
paw!'  " 

And  that  was  all  he  said,  but  it  was  his  way  of  sug- 
gesting to  the  young  Harris  that  he  had  better  settle 
down  to  the  things  he  was  born  unto — corn  bread,  col- 
lards  and  pot-liquor.  And  there  is  very  good  authority 
for  the  statement  that  the  aforesaid  young  Harris 
mended  his  ways. 

Another  story  will  illustrate  his  quaint  ways  of 
going  at  things.  One  of  his  sons,  when  about  eigh- 
teen years  old,  was  -the  Atlanta  correspondent  for 
the  Columbus,  Ga.,  Enquirer-Sun.  Handling  as  he  did 
the  political  news  for  that  paper,  being  located  at  the 
capital  of  the  state,  and  being  at  an  age  of  imperturb- 
able adolescence,  the  fashion  in  which  he  murdered  Eng- 
lish was  calculated  to  make  the  average  philologist  sit 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


53 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  jfoel  Chandler  Harris  and  two  of  their  grandchildren,  I()OJ. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  55 

up  and  ponder.  If  Bill  Jones  stopped  for  a  moment  to 
speak  to  Jack  Smith  on  a  street  corner,  "an  important 
political  conference  had  occurred  in  our  midst  and  mat- 
ters of  state  were  receiving  the  full  benefit  of  the  experi- 
ence and  interest  of  two  of  our  leading  statesmen."  In 
short,  the  articles  for  the  Enquirer-Sun  were  as  flowery 
with  verbiage  as  a  field  with  daisies,  and  the  youthful 
correspondent  ran  every  polysyllable  to  earth  on  the 
slightest  provocation. 

This  flow  of  language  was  also  a  delight  to  the 
young  business  manager  of  the  Enquirer-Sun,  and 
many  kind  letters  did  the  Harris  boy  receive  from  him. 
These  served  but  to  inspire  young  Harris  to  further 
raids  against  good  form,  and  always  at  the  top  of  the 
column  in  big  letters  appeared  "By  Julian  Harris." 
Young  Harris  himself  tells  the  remainder  of  the  story, 
in  this  wise: 

"Warm  Springs,  Ga.,  is  situated  near  Columbus, 
and  about  the  time  these  wordy  outpourings  were  encum- 
bering the  columns  of  the  Enquirer-Sun,  my  father 
went  to  Warm  Springs.  Unlucky  chance  put  this  busi- 
ness manager  of  the  Enquirer-Sun  at  Warm  Springs  a 
day  ahead  of  my  father,  and  the  aforesaid  young  man 
was  standing  at  the  counter  when  my  father  registered, 
'Joel  Chandler  Harris,  Atlanta.' 

"My  father  turned  to  go  to  his  room,  and  the  young 
man  glanced  at  the  register  and  saw  the  name.  With 
a  beaming  and  benevolent  smile  the  young  man  ap- 
proached my  father  and  extended  his  hand,  adding  this 
query:  'Are  you  the  son  of  our  Mr.  Julian  Harris?' 
Calmly  and  quizzically  my  father  gazed  at  the  young 


56  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

man  who  knew  of  my  connection  with  the  Enquirer-Sun 
through  that  flow  of  language  (which  my  father  had 
unceasingly  yet  unsuccessfully  tried  to  divert  into  re- 
spectable channels)  and  quietly  replied,  'No,  Mister 
Julian  Harris  is  my  grandfather.'  ' 

Joel  Chandler  Harris  was  making  great  strides  on 
the  Savannah  News  when  in  1876  a  yellow  fever  scourge 
swept  over  the  town.  Harris  and  his  family  fled  to 
Atlanta.  There  Evan  P.  Howell  gave  the  ambitious 
young  journalist  a  job  on  the  Constitution,  and  it  was 
there  he  was  to  remain  for  more  than  twenty-five  years 
of  continuous  service. 

Up  to  this  time  Harris  had  never  written  in  negro 
dialect.  Sam.  W.  Small,  however,  was  at  that  time 
making  a  great  hit  with  his  "Old  Si"  stories.  One  day 
Small  was  taken  ill,  and  the  "Old  Si"  stories  were 
omitted  perforce.  Soon  letters  began  to  come  in  inquir- 
ing why  "Old  Si"  was  left  out  of  the  paper.  Capt. 
Howell,  in  a  most  common-place  way,  said  to  Harris : 

"Joe,  why  don't  you  try  your  hand  at  writing  this 
sort  of  thing?" 

Harris  remonstrated,  but  Howell  insisted.  The  next 
day  there  appeared  in  the  columns  of  the  Constitution 
the  first  of  the  Uncle  Remus  stories.  A  genius  had 
begun  to  bloom.  Mr.  Turner  had  prepared  the  soil, 
"Ole  Uncle"  George  Terrell  had  sown  the  seed,  Capt. 
Howell  brought  forth  the  blossom.  The  stories  made  a 
great  hit  at  once,  and  the  clamor  for  them  seemed  insatia- 
ble as  long  as  Mr.  Harris  lived.  They  were  the  same 
stories  other  Southern  boys  had  been  hearing  from  their 
infancy,  but  somehow,  with  the  new  telling  they  re- 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


57 


"  UNCLE  REMUS" 

Frontispiece  of  the  first  edition  of  "Uncle  Remus,  His  Songs  and  His  Sayings." 
Reproduced  by  permission  of  D.  Appleton  &  Co. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


59 


b.  boaey.  «141  you  fallerV  till  you  rise  op  an*  toller? 

•ill  yon  toller  along  alter  ie7 
De  way'll  be  loag  like  it  is  rid  de  Sialler. 

Ac'  de  aigtt  so  dark  you  can't  see — 
lill  yo«  rise  «heo  1  aollerV  dill  you  roller  aloo?  alter  » 

U««y  t»i'  se'abe.  "iey's  des  good  fisn— 

Oey's  des  at  good  fish  in  de  sea 
ty  nx  y'ever  lock  OBll"  tell,'  setce,   "1  »ish 

Del  you'd  run  an'  kMt  ketch  one  fer  le!" 

•Old  you  e»erf  se'saa.  an'  'I  don't  tbink  you  oujbler 

Give  «ay  ter  yo'  griaf  dauiay; 
Ti«e  »»z  ihan  you  aou?bter  bed  my  dsu5iiur. 
Hat  SBS'S  ter  be  tarried  ter-dayl" 

/Oa.  aoney.  »ill  you  foll^rV  aill  you  rise  up  an'   foliar? 

nil  you  roller  alon^  alter  »•? 
Iten  da  stars  'gin  ter  flicker  iboo  de  trees  in  de  boiler, 

An'  de  night  so  dark  you  can't  see- 
Mil  you  rise  up'  an'  toller''  «ill  you  toller  along  alter  « 


f«r  da  lalTH  jgcrfl  t-ir  de  spriii?.*. 
s«z  ol'   »r.   Babbit,  sezee; 


•t  "iTTan'  a  Swiy  fer  ol'  Kr.-»oon. 

Pol-licker  far  det  al  de  gale; 
«  big  asb-caka  fer  det  dal's  aooo, 

An'  a  drat  far  dec  rtttx  dil's 


;doney.  hooeyl  iill  you  tollerV  lill  you  rise  op  an'  toller? 
till  you  Toller  elcm?  'tier  ••? 
He'll  ski»  like  de  I  Smller  iboo  de  long,  dark  oolite, 
•h'sn  de  *ai  &$*  is  ridio'  free— 
till  you  rise  up  «n'  roller''  till  you  toller  «lon,?  alter  »«9 


,    1<    ,  /  ,t**     ;  >i<'f** 


Fac-simile  of  a  page  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris    original  manuscript,  tiuith  his 
own  alterations. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  61 

ceived,  they  became  something  very  new.  It  was  Art 
in  action. 

Harris  continued  to  write  in  great  quantity.  Be- 
tween 1880  and  1907,  he  produced  the  following  books, 
named  here  in  their  order  of  publication: 

"Uncle  Remus,  His  Songs  and  Sayings";  "Nights 
with  Uncle  Remus";  "Mingo  and  Other  Sketches  in 
Black  and  White";  "Free  Joe  and  Other  Georgia 
Sketches";  "Uncle  Remus  and  His  Friends";  "On  the 
Plantation";  "Little  Mr.  Thimblefinger" ;  "Mr.  Rabbit 
at  Home";  "Sister  Jane";  Daddy  Jake,  the  Runaway"; 
"Baalam  and  His  Master";  "The  Story  of  Aaron,  so 
named  the  son  of  Ben  Ali";  "Stories  of  Georgia"; 
"Aaron  in  the  Wild-wood";  "Tales  of  the  Homefolks"; 
"Georgia  from  the  Invasion  of  De  Soto  to  Recent 
Times";  "Evening  Tales";  "Stories  of  Homefolks"; 
"Chronicles  of  Aunt  Minerva  Ann";  "On  the  Wings 
of  Occasion";  "The  Making  of  a  Statesman";  "Gabriel 
Toliver";  "Wally  Wanderoon";  "A  Little  Union 
Scout";  "The  Tar  Baby  Story  and  Other  Rhymes  of 
Uncle  Remus";  "Told  by  Uncle  Remus";  "Uncle 
Remus  and  Brer  Rabbit". 

In  addition  to  his  signed  articles  and  stories,  Mr. 
Harris  wrote  countless  unsigned  editorials  and  articles 
for  the  Constitution  during  the  next  twenty-five  years. 
His  ability  to  turn  out  good  readable  copy  was  astonish- 
ing. With  it  all,  he  was  ever  good-natured  and  easy- 
going. The  Constitution  had  an  assistant  foreman 
named  Charles  Pritchard.  One  day,  Harris  turned  in 
his  editorials  to  Mr.  Pritchard  and  went  home.  It  was  in 
the  days  before  the  telephone  covered  all  the  territory. 


62  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

Mr.  Pritchard  put  the  editorials  in  his  overcoat  pocket 
and  also  left  the  office. 

The  next  day  the  Constitution  had  just  one  editorial, 
written  by  the  office  boy,  probably,  and  Mr.  Pril -hard, 
on  noticing  the  paper,  became  greatly  frightened  and 
hurried  about  nine  in  the  morning  to  the  office  to  explain 
to  Mr.  Harris. 

Harris  laughed  and  said  to  Pritchard,  at  the  same 
time  reaching  for  his  hat.  "Well,  Mr.  Pritchard,  you 
have  certainly  done  me  mighty  proud.  You  have  just 
saved  me  a  day's  work,  and  I  am  gwine  back  to  West 
End  and  cook  me  a  mess  of  collards,"  and  he  left  the 
printer  standing  surprised  and  stammering. 

It  is  surprising  how  much  fun  Mr.  Harris  could  get 
out  of  collards,  pot -liquor,  corn  pone,  and  other  homely 
dishes.  To  one  of  the  early  numbers  of  the  Uncle 
Remus'  Magazine,  he  contributed  an  extended  editorial, 
entitled  "Corn  Bread  and  Dumplings,"  the  opening  sen- 
tence of  which  was:  "The  tenant  of  the  Snap-Bean 
Farm  has  been  wondering,  not  only  recently,  but  for 
many  long  years,  why  some  Poet,  whose  pipes  are  of 
sufficient  range  and  volume,  and  whose  art  is  entirely 
simple  and  true,  does  not  set  himself  the  delightful  task 
of  writing  an  epic  on  Corn  meal." 

.It  was  on  this  "Snap-Bean  Farm,"  a  plot  of  ground 
in  West  End,  about  two  miles  from  the  center  of 
Atlanta,  that  Harris  lived  and  loved  to  live.  He  en- 
joyed the  simplicity  of  it.  Here  he  wrote  his  stories, 
using  generally  a  lead  pencil  and  the  arm  of  a  rocking 
chair  on  his  wide  front  veranda.  Here  strangers  visit- 
ing Atlanta  came  to  see  what  manner  of  place  it  was. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


63 


s- 

•5 

g 

I 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  65 

"We  have  no  literary  foolishness  here,"  Mr.  Harris 
remarked  one  day  concerning  Snap-Bean  Farm.  "We 
like  people  more  than  we  do  books,  and  we  find  more  in 
them." 

It  was  at  Snap-Bean  Farm  that  Andrew  Carnegie 
visited  the  author  of  Uncle  Remus.  Here  too,  the  chil- 
dren have  grown  up.  Here  Mr.  Harris  built  houses 
for  them  when  they  married,  and  here  his  grand  chil- 
dren began  to  breathe  an  atmosphere  of  purity  and 
wholesomeness.  Here  he  died,  and  here  now  they  talk 
of  establishing  a  memorial  to  his  memory — that  men 
of  future  generations  may  come  and  see  the  same  trees, 
flowers,  and  haunts  of  birds  which  he  enjoyed  so  deeply. 

As  the  years  went  by,  Mr.  Harris  did  more  and  more 
of  his  work  at  Snap-Bean  Farm.  He  would  come  in 
town  for  the  morning  editorial  conference  at  the  Consti- 
tution office,  and  then  go  home  to  do  his  work.  He  saw 
little  of  people  in  general  and  did  but  little  traveling. 
A  few  years  ago,  however,  he  did  go  to  Washington  to 
see  the  President.  He  described  the  visit  in  Uncle 
Remus'  Magazine  under  the  heading  "Mr.  Billy  San- 
ders, of  Shady  Dale:  He  Visits  the  White  House." 
Among  his  other  comments  on  what  he  saw  and  heard 
was  this  which  so  thoroughly  shows  what  appealed  to 
Harris  himself: 

"Thar's  one  thing  about  the  White  House  that'll 
astonish  you  ef  you  ever  git  thar  while  Teddy  is  on  hand. 
It's  a  home;  it'll  come  over  you  like  a  sweet  dream  the 
minnit  you  git  in  the  door,  an'  you'll  wonder  how  they 
sweep  out  all  the  politics  an'  keep  the  place  clean  an' 
wholesome.  No  sooner  had  I  shuck  the  President's  hand 


66  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

than  the  dinner  bell  rung> — we  call  it  the  supper  bell  at 
my  house  an'  then  a  lovely  lady  came  to'rds  me,  wi'  the 
sweetest-lookin'  young  gal  that  you  ever  laid  eyes  on; 
an'  right  then  an'  thar  I  know'd  whar  the  home-feelin' 
came  from,  the  feelin'  that  makes  you  think  that  you've 
been  thar  before,  an'  seen  it  all  jest  as  it  is,  an'  liked 
it  all  mighty  well,  so  much  so  that  you  f ergit  how  old 
you  are,  an'  whar  you  live  at." 

Though  Mr.  Harris  himself  seldom  went  away  from 
home,  his  family  occasionally  took  a  long  summer  out- 
ing, leaving  "Uncle  Remus"  to  hold  the  fort.  Mr.  For- 
rest Adair,  of  Atlanta,  relates  an  interesting  story  of 
what  took  place  on  one  of  those  occasions : 

"Mr.  Harris  was  alone  in  his  house  working  on  an 
editorial,  when  a  ring  at  the  door  disturbed  him.  He 
answered  the  bell,  and  a  rather  genteel-looking,  middle- 
aged  man  saluted  him,  offering  toilet  soap  for  sale  at 
'ten  cents  a  cake,  or  three  cakes  for  a  quarter.'  Annoyed 
by  the  interruption,  Harris  said  rather  brusquely  that 
he  did  not  need  any  soap. 

'  'But  I  am  on  the  verge  of  starvation,'  said  the  man. 
'The  idea!'  laughed  Mr.  Harris.  'Why,  man,  you 
are  wearing  a  better  coat  than  I  have!' 

"  'You  would  not  talk  so,'  he  replied  in  a  tremulous 
voice,  'if  you  had  seen  how  hard  my  poor  wife  rubbed 
and  brushed  my  coat  this  morning  so  that  I  would  pre- 
sent a  respectable  appearance.' 

"Harris  then  saw  that  the  coat  was  old,  almost 
threadbare,  but  exceedingly  clean  and  neat.  He  glanced 
again  at  the  man's  face. 

"  'Excuse  me/  he  said ;  'I  was  very  busy  when  you 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  67 


COPYRIGHT,  UNDERWOOD  A  UNDERWOOD. 

Side  view  of  the  borne  Mr,  Harris  loved  so  well. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  69 

came,  and  spoke  thoughtlessly.    Now  that  I  think  of 
it,  I  do  need  some  soap.    Fact  is,  I  am  completely  out.' 
'Thank  you,'  interrupted  the  man ;  'here  are  three 
cakes  for  a  quarter.' 

'  'Nonsense!'  said  Harris.  'Here  is  a  five-dollar 
bill.  I  will  take  it  all  in  soap.  Got  to  have  it — couldn't 
do  without  it — always  buy  it  in  five-dollar  lots.' 

"The  peddler  left  all  of  his  stock,  and  delivered  an- 
other lot  later.  It  was  a  very  profitable  day's  work  for 
him.  It  was  just  like  'Uncle  Remus.'  He  was  always 
doing  such  things." 

In  line  with  the  popular  practice  of  the  day,  the 
author  of  the  Uncle  Remus  stories  had  many  offers  of 
large  sums  of  money  if  he  would  appear  before  audiences 
and  read  selections  from  his  own  writings.  These  he 
steadily  declined.  His  timidity  couldn't  stand  it.  He 
was  once  asked  why  he  did  not  go  on  the  lecture  platform 
and  read  his  stories  as  did  Mr.  Riley  and  Mr.  Page.  He 
replied  that  he  could  not  do  it  if  he  were  offered  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars  an  evening — that  in  the  pres- 
ence of  an  audience  his  tongue  refused  to  act.  He 
was  invited,  upon  one  occasion,  in  company  with  Henry 
W.  Grady,  to  a  public  gathering  in  Eatonton,  his 
boyhood  home.  Mr.  Grady  made  an  address,  and 
after  he  concluded  the  people  called  for  Harris.  It 
seemed  that  for  once  he  would  be  forced  to  say  a  few 
words.  He  knew  that  it  was  impossible,  but  he  could 
not  afford  to  sit  still  like  a  statue  while  his  old  neigh- 
bors were  calling  upon  him  to  utter  a  few  words,  so  he 
arose  and  remarked — "I  have  never  been  able  to  make  a 
speech  without  taking  a  drink  of  water,  so  you  must 


70  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

wait  until  I  can  get  a  little  water."  And  with  that  state- 
ment, he  left  the  platform,  but  did  not  return.  The 
whole  company  knew  that  he  would  not  return  when  he 
left.  They  laughed  and  cheered  him  as  he  walked  down 
the  aisle,  knowing  that  he  had  faced  and  escaped  from  a 
difficult  situation  in  a  characteristic  way. 

The  last  year  and  a  half  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris' 
life  was  devoted  to  the  Uncle  Remus  Magazine,  which 
he  established  and  edited.  His  aims  in  this  publication 
are  best  stated  in  these  words  of  his  own : 

"It  is  purposed  to  issue  a  magazine  that  will  be 
broadly  and  patriotically  American,  and  genuinely  rep- 
resentative of  the  best  thought  of  the  whole  country. 
The  note  of  provinciality  is  one  of  the  chief  charms  of 
all  that  is  really  great  in  English  literature,  but  those 
who  will  be  in  charge  of  this  magazine  will  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  provinciality  so  prevalent  in  the  North, 
the  East,  the  South  and  the  West — the  provinciality 
that  stands  for  ignorance  and  blind  prejudice,  that  rep- 
resents narrow  views  and  an  unhappy  congestion  of 
ideas. 

"Neighbor-knowledge  is  perhaps  more  important  in 
some  respects  than  most  of  the  knowledge  imparted  in 
the  school.  There  is  a  woeful  lack  of  it  in  the  North 
and  East  with  respect  to  the  South,  and  this  lack  the 
magazine  will  endeavor  in  all  seemly  ways  to  remove. 
The  new  generation  in  the  South  has  been  largely  edu- 
cated in  Northern  and  Eastern  institutions,  with  the  re- 
sult that  a  high  appreciation  of  all  that  is  best  and 
worthiest  in  those  sections  is  spread  farther  and  wider 
than  ever  before  and  is  constantly  growing  in  extent. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  71 


Foimcje4  by  JOCly 


HARRIS 


Fac-simile  of  "Uncle  Remus  Magazine,"  the  last  great  interest  of  Mr.  Horns'  life. 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man  73 

On  the  other  hand,  at  the  North  neighbor-knowledge  of 
the  South  is  confined  almost  entirely  to  those  who  have 
made  commercial  explorations  of  this  section,  and  who 
have  touched  Southern  life  at  no  really  significant  or 
important  point. 

"It  shall  be  the  purpose  of  the  magazine  to  oblit- 
erate ignorance  of  this  kind.  It  will  deal  with  the  high 
ideals  toward  which  the  best  and  ripest  Southern  thought 
is  directed ;  it  will  endeavor  to  encourage  the  cultivation 
of  the  rich  field  of  poetry  and  romance  which,  hi  the 
Southern  States,  offers  a  constant  invitation  to  those 
who  aspire  to  deal  in  fictive  literature.  Itself  standing 
for  the  highest  and  best  in  life  and  literature,  the  maga- 
zine will  endeavor  to  nourish  the  hopes  and  beliefs  that 
ripen  under  the  influence  of  time,  and  that  are  constantly 
bearing  fruit  amongst  the  children  of  men." 

For  each  number  of  this  magazine  Mr.  Harris  wrote 
an  editorial.  Here  his  quaint  fancifulness  found  full 
opportunity.  His  ramblings  among  fields  of  dreams 
and  imagery  were  always  a  feature  of  the  publication. 
In  one  of  the  Christmas  numbers  he  had  an  editorial  on 
"Santa  Glaus  and  the  Fairies."  Characteristic  of  the 
man  is  this  quotation: 

"The  real  fairy  stories  are  far  truer  than  any  truth 
that  appeals  to  the  minds  of  the  materialists;  they  are 
true  to  the  ideals  by  which  right-minded  men  and 
women  live,  and  truer  than  any  fact  discovered  by 
those  who  grovel  close  to  the  ground.  It  is  a  pity  that 
there  should  be  any  grovelling  in  this  bright  and  beau- 
tiful world,  but  so  it  is,  and  the  grovellers  seem  to  be 
in  the  majority.  The  farmer  has  never  been  able  to 


74  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

understand  the  motives  of  those  who  are  such  sticklers 
for  cold  facts  and  the  naked  truth.  But  such,  gentle 
reader,  is  the  nature  and  purpose  of  those  who  have  no 
faith  and  no  belief  in  the  supernatural,  and  who  laugh 
to  scorn  the  creations  of  the  imagination  of  the  race. 
Such  are  the  materialists  who  go  about  destroying  leg- 
ends that  embody  the  highest  forms  of  truth,  the  very 
essence  of  beauty." 

A  final  quotation  from  the  magazine  will  give  in  a 
few  lines  the  fundamental  ideal  of  Mr.  Harris'  life. 
With  the  following  words  in  mind  one  can  understand 
his  profound  grasp  upon  truth  and  his  mastery  of  the 
secret  of  happiness: 

"What  is  success  and  in  what  does  it  consist?  In 
heaping  up  accumulations  of  money  and  property  by 
overreaching  the  public  and  crushing  competition?  In 
greasing  the  axles  of  progress  with  the  blood  of  the 
poor  and  the  ignorant?  In  adding  to  the  doubts,  and 
thereby  increasing  the  misery  of  the  people  of  the  nations 
of  the  earth?  Or  does  it  consist  in  living  a  clean  and 
wholesome  life,  in  making  the  troubles  of  your  neigh- 
bor your  own,  in  avoiding  envy  and  all  forms  of  covet- 
ousness  and  in  thanking  Heaven  for  what  you  have, 
however  small  a  portion  that  may  be?  There  can  be  no 
form  of  real  success  that  does  not  bring  some  sort  of  aid 
and  comfort  to  humanity,  that  does  not  make  people  a 
little  happier,  a  little  more  contented  than  they  were 
before,  that  does  not  uplift,  in  some  sort,  the  soul  which 
the  German  professor  could  not  find  in  his  cadavers, 
and  that  does  not  bring  joy  and  content  from  the  shal- 
low well  of  life." 


Joel  Chandler  Harris — the  Man 


66 


UNCLE  REMUS" 


UNCLE  REMUS 

BY   GRANTLAND    EICE 

JHERE'S  a  shadow  on  the  cotton-patch; 

the  blue  has  left  the  sky ; 
I  The   mournin'   meadows   echo  with   the 

southwind's  saddened  sigh; 
|  And  the  gold  of  all  the  sunshine  in  Dixie's 

turned  to  gray — 
But  the  roses  and  the  violets  shall  hide  his  face  away. 

"The  Little  Boy"  is  lonesome  and  his  eyes  are  dim  with 

tears ; 

Beyond  the  mists  he  only  sees  the  shadows  of  the  years ; 
The  light  all  lies  behind  him  with  his  best  friend  gone 

away — 
But  the  softest  winds  of  Dixie  at  his  heart  will  kneel  to 

pray. 

The  people  of  the  woodlands — the  fur  and  feathered 

clan — 
The  bear — the  fox — the  rabbit — will  mourn  him  more 

than  man; 
But  the  rose  that  sways  above  him  in  his  blossom-tented 

tomb 
Shall  turn  its  crimson  lips  of  love  to  kiss  away  the  gloom. 


80  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

The  shadow's  on  the  cotton-patch;  the  light  has  left  the 

sky; 

A  world  shall  bow  in  sorrow  at  his  message  of  good-bye; 
And  the  gold  of  all  the  sunshine  in  Dixie's  turned  to 

gray; 
But  the  sweetest  flowers  of  the  South  shall  hide  his  face 

away. 


THE  CHARACTER 

OF 

JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 


THE  CHARACTER  OF 
JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 

A  Memorial  Sermon,  delivered  on  the  day  of  Harris*  Burial. 

July  5,  19O8,  in  Trinity  Church,  Atlanta.  Ga.. 

by  Rev.  James  W.  Lee,  D.  D. 

"  The  Lord  opened  the  eyes  of  the  young  man ;  and  he  saw ;  and  behold 
the  mountain  was  full  of  horses  and  chariots  of  fire."— II.  Kings  vi.  I  7 

I  HIS  text  is  connected  with  a  scene  in  Do- 
than,  which  took  place  between  Elisha 
and  the  hosts  of  the  King  of  Syria.  The 
servant  of  Elisha  was  deeply  concerned 
for  the  safety  of  his  master,  until  his  eyes 
were  opened,  and  then  he  saw  that  they  who  were  with 
Elisha  were  far  more  than  they  who  were  against  him. 
I  shall  take  the  text  from  the  events  and  the  persons 
directly  related  to  it,  and  use  it  as  containing  a  very  im- 
portant, universal  lesson,  on  the  subject  of  seeing.  The 
difference  in  men  in  all  ages  is  largely  a  question  of  vision. 

I. 

The  lower  animals  have  only  one  pair  of  eyes,  but 
human  beings  have  two  sets  of  eyes.  By  the  first 
they  see  material,  outside  things;  by  the  second,  they 
see  interior  realities.  God  opens  our  outward  eyes 
naturally,  without  our  consent,  as  He  opens  the  eyes 
of  the  bird.  But  in  the  opening  of  our  inside  eyes, 
by  which  we  see  interior  realities,  He  must  have  our 
co-operation.  Our  outside  eyes  God  opens  for  us. 


84  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

Our  inside  eyes  are  self-opened,  yet  with  God's  help. 
John  Addington  Symonds  said  it  was  easy,  from 
a  first  visit,  to  feel  and  say  something  obvious  about 
Venice.  That  the  influence  of  that  sea  city,  when  first 
seen,  is  unique,  immediate  and  unmistakable.  But 
that  to  express  the  sober  truth  of  those  impressions, 
after  the  first  astonishment  of  the  Venetian  vision  had 
subsided,  after  the  spirit  of  the  place  had  been  har- 
monized through  familiarity  with  one's  habitual  mood, 
was  difficult.  I  was  in  Venice  last  year  just  long 
enough  to  feel  the  rapture  of  a  primal  view.  So,  I 
brought  away  the  picture  formed  by  a  glimpse  from  a 
gondola,  gliding  noiselessly  through  her  network  of 
canals,  of  the  most  picturesque  spot  of  earth  and  brine 
on  the  planet.  I  find  it  easy,  therefore,  to  call  up  in 
memory  the  scenery  of  that  center  of  art  and  wonder. 
Symonds  paints  sunsets  emblazoned  in  gold  and  crim- 
son upon  cloud  and  water ;  violet  domes  and  bell-towers 
etched  against  the  orange  of  a  western  sky;  moonlight 
silvering  breeze-rippled  breadths  of  liquid  blue;  distant 
island  shimmering  in  sun-lit  haze ;  music  and  black  glid- 
ings boats;  labyrinthine  darkness,  made  for  mysteries 
of  love  and  crime;  statue-fretted  palace  fronts;  brazen 
clangor  and  a  moving  crowd ;  pictures  by  earth's  proud- 
est painters,  cased  in  gold  on  walls  of  council  chambers 
where  Venice  sat  enthroned,  a  queen,  and  where  nobles 
swept  the  floors  with  robes  of  Tyrian  brocade.  But  to 
the  people  who  make  Venice  their  home,  the  pathos  of 
this  marble  city,  crumbling  to  its  grave  in  mud  and  sea 
is  not  felt.  The  best  descriptions  we  have,  therefore, 
of  the  city  of  St.  Mark's  and  the  Doge's  palace,  are 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris        85 


y  otl  Chandler  Harris  at  if)  yean  of  age.      From  a  Dagutrreotyfe. 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris        87 

from  persons  who  had  barely  time  to  look  at  this  won- 
drous pile  of  magnificence,  before  turning  away  from  it. 

II. 

All  this  I  feel  when  I  undertake  to  speak  of  my 
dear  friend,  Joel  Chandler  Harris.  The  best  represen- 
tations of  his  life  will  come  from  those  who  have  seen 
him  and  measured  him  from  a  distance,  from  those  who 
have  lived  far  enough  away  from  him  to  get  a  com- 
plete idea  of  the  great  world  of  imagery,  of  beauty 
and  of  innocent  and  wholesome  illusion  he  has  created. 
If  we  had  been  brought  up  in  the  sun,  we  could  not 
form  such  an  idea  of  its  vast  oceans  of  light  as  do 
those  who  are  bathed  in  its  waves  from  some  of  the  out- 
lying planets  millions  of  miles  from  it.  The  feelings 
of  those  brought  up  with  Mr.  Harris,  and  living  all 
their  lives  in  close  proximity  to  his  simple,  beautiful 
life,  may  be  defined  as  those  of  love  and  complete  admi- 
ration. It  has  never  occurred  to  them  to  engage  in 
the  critical  business  of  forming  dry  and  intellectual  esti- 
mates of  his  mysterious  mental  powers.  They  have  felt 
them  and  rejoiced  in  them,  and  with  that  they  have  been 
content.  The  people  of  Georgia  feel  very  much  toward 
Mr.  Harris  as  the  citizens  of  Venice  feel  toward  their 
city — they  love  him  too  much  to  describe  him.  Out- 
siders may  take  intellectual  interest  in  him;  the  interest 
we  take  in  him  is  emotional  and  affectional.  We  have 
regarded  him  as  the  property  of  our  hearts  and  not  of 
our  heads.  He  has  moved  in  and  out  among  us,  the 
genial,  palpitating  form  of  a  time  that  is  gone.  He 


88  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

has  made  to  live  over  again,  in  a  new  age,  the  days  of 
our  fathers  and  mothers.  He  has  shown  us  the  kindly 
faces  and  the  warm  hearts  of  the  old-time  negro  mam- 
mas who  nursed  us.  He  has  caught  in  the  chambers 
of  his  imagery  and  transmuted  into  eternal  form,  life 
as  it  was  lived  on  the  southern  plantation.  He  has 
arrested  and  given  ideal,  everlasting  setting  to  a  period 
about  to  pass  forever  on  the  downward  stream  of  time. 
He  has  thrown  the  color  of  his  genius  into  our  fields 
and  woods.  He  has  idealized  our  region  and  given  it  a 
permanent  place  in  the  world's  literature.  He  has  taken 
the  raw  material  of  myth  and  legend  and  folk-lore 
lying  about  in  a  disorganized  way  in  the  minds  of  our 
population,  pulverized  it,  sublimated  it,  and  converted 
it  into  current  coin  for  circulation  throughout  the  world 
of  letters. 

III. 

As  the  poet  Burns,  by  lifting  his  Bonnie  Boon 
from  the  realm  of  matter  to  that  of  thought,  caused 
it  to  flow  through  all  lands,  so  Mr.  Harris  took 
the  common  rabbit  of  the  Georgia  briar  patch  and  gave 
it  ideal  form,  so  that  now  it  triumphs  over  its  enemies 
everywhere  in  the  universal  mind  of  childhood. 

Mr.  Harris,  by  endowing  his  animals  with  a  sort  of 
human  wisdom,  has  turned  them  loose  on  the  planet  to 
advertise  his  name  forever.  He  caught  them  and 
branded  them  and  made  them  his  own.  Wherever  you 
find  a  rabbit,  whether  in  Africa  or  Asia  or  Europe  or 
on  the  scattered  islands  of  the  sea,  that  little  breathing 
pinch  of  dust  belongs  to  Mr.  Harris.  His  pose  beside 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris        89 


Joel  Chandler  Harris  at  21  years  of  age. 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris       91 

the  briar  patch,  his  harmless  paws,  his  large  farseeing 
eyes  are  all  the  personal  property  of  "Uncle  Remus." 
No  one  can  ever  take  them  from  him.  Among  all  the 
coming  sons  of  men  no  one  will  ever  rise  up  to  make 
them  talk  and  act  as  he  did.  He  entered  their  little 
lives;  he  jumped  through  the  broomsage  with  them; 
he  took  up  his  abode  in  their  haunts;  his  feelings  pul- 
sated in  their  diminutive  hearts ;  his  genius  uttered  itself 
through  their  habits.  He  did  for  his  animals  what 
Stradivarius  did  for  his  violin,  he  put  his  soul  into  them. 

IV. 

No  country  becomes  really  and  perennially  attrac- 
tive until  through  the  genius  of  its  chosen  sons  it  is 
transferred  from  the  region  of  time  and  space  into  that 
of  spirit.  Thousands  of  people  go  to  Italy  every  year, 
not  to  see  its  mountains  of  earth  and  rock,  not  to  see 
its  patches  of  vineyard  clinging  to  its  hills,  but  to  see 
these  as  they  have  been  lifted  up  and  made  to  glow 
through  the  thought  of  Michael  Angelo,  Dante  and 
Raphael.  People  care  little  for  houses  and  lands  and 
railroads  and  great  cities,  until  they  become  significant 
and  beautiful  through  association  with  great  thought. 
We  love  Mr.  Harris,  therefore,  not  simply  because  he 
was  genuinely  true,  and  kindly  and  good,  but  because, 
in  addition  to  all  these  traits  of  personal  worth,  he  was  a 
creator,  and  helped  to  give  our  state  a  place  in  the 
eternal  realm  of  mind.  By  his  work  he  enhanced  not 
only  our  belongings,  but  ourselves.  He  enriched  us  all 
by  a  process  of  artistic  work  by  which  he,  at  the  same 
time,  enriched  himself.  The  wealth  he  created  was  of 


92  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

the  high  sort  that  breaks  through  the  limitations  and 
confines  of  fee  simple,  exclusive  titles.  It  cannot  be 
cabined,  or  cornered,  or  confined.  It  is  of  the  sort  that, 
when  once  produced,  increases  in  proportion  to  the  num- 
ber of  persons  who  share  in  it.  It  is  of  the  kind  that 
belongs  to  the  universal  spirit  of  man. 

V. 

Mr.  Harris  illustrates  for  us  what  one  may  find  in 
the  depths  of  his  being,  when  he  seriously  sets  about 
exploring  the  interior  domain  of  his  own  soul  for  hidden 
treasures.  All  the  wealth  of  beauty  he  has  turned  into 
the  modern  mind  is  simply  what  he  discovered  packed 
away  in  the  recesses  of  his  own  personality.  By  earn- 
estly and  industriously  and  persistently  searching  in 
the  mines  of  his  consciousness,  he  came  upon  layers  of 
vast  value,  more  precious  than  gold.  No  prospector  in 
the  mountains  of  California,  or  Colorado,  ever  gloated 
in  completer  glee  over  rich  finds  discovered  than  did 
this  unworldly  son  of  Georgia  chuckle  in  hilarious  de- 
light over  images,  ideas,  figures,  he  saw  lying  in  heaps 
in  the  unseen  world  of  his  spirit.  Those  who  were  inti- 
mate with  Mr.  Harris  will  call  to  mind  his  habit  of  shak- 
ing with  merriment  always  just  before  giving  expres- 
sion to  some  quaint  or  exquisite  sentiment,  as  if  he  saw 
the  striking  quality  of  the  thought  he  was  about  to 
utter  before  it  completely  took  form  in  speech.  By  liv- 
ing constantly  with  the  fancies  and  beautiful  scenery  he 
had  accustomed  himself  to  find  in  his  own  mind,  he  kept 
himself  at  a  perpetual  level  of  good  humor.  He  always 
impressed  me  as  one  who  was  being  constantly  sustained 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris        93 


oel  Chandler  Harris  at  24  yean  of  age,  the  time  of  his  marriage. 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris        95 


Reading  from  right  to  left:  Roberts,  Joel  Chandler  Harris,  J.  H.  Estill,  Henry 
W.  Grady.      Taken  at  Look-out  Mountain,  Tenn.t  about  1880. 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris        97 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris       99 

by  unseen  resources  of  happiness.  He  radiated  as  natur- 
ally as  a  candle  shines.  He  never  had  to  leave  home  to 
find  pleasure.  He  was  rarely  ever  at  banquets  given  by 
his  fellow  citizens,  all  of  whom  he  loved.  He  had  such 
a  happy  lot  of  sports  and  innocent  revelers  banqueting 
day  by  day  in  the  halls  of  his  imagination  that  he  was 
hardly  ever  able  to  see  his  way  clear  to  leave  these 
inside  guests  for  those  he  might  find  outside.  By  com- 
mand of  the  President  of  the  United  States  he  was 
forced,  on  one  occasion,  to  go  out  and  sit  down  with 
the  great,  as  the  world  measures  greatness,  and  Mr. 
Roosevelt  had  the  insight  that  enabled  him  to  know  that 
he  was  causing  acute  discomfort  to  a  man  of  whom  he 
was  very  fond. 

VI. 

The  world  can  well  forgive  Herbert  Spencer  for 
denying  himself  the  social  life  of  London,  that  he  might 
give  himself  up  entirely  to  working  out  his  synthetic 
philosophy.  So  we  can  well  forgive  Mr.  Harris  for 
not  seeing  his  way  clear  to  dine  with  us  often,  inasmuch 
as  he  was  giving  his  whole  attention  to  preparing  feasts 
which  the  whole  world  can  share  with  him  forever.  He 
transmuted  his  soul  into  his  writings.  He  converted 
himself  into  literature.  He  realized  his  ideals  by  ideal- 
izing his  reals.  He  had  illimitable  optimism,  because 
he  ranged  in  a  region  where  vast  hopes  are  fed.  He 
laughed  with  a  wholesomeness  and  depth  that  indicated 
his  proximity  to  the  boundless  resources  of  infinite  good 
cheer.  He  revelled  and  luxuriated  like  an  innocent, 
happy  child  out  for  a  holiday  from  eternity.  He  was 


100  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

contagious  like  sweet  music.  People  caught  him  as 
invalids  catch  health  in  the  mountains.  All  felt  him  as 
travelers  in  Holland  feel  the  presence  of  acres  of  car- 
nations, blooming  on  the  roadside.  His  ministry  was  not 
dogmatic,  bristling  like  the  quills  of  a  porcupine,  with 
"thou  shalts"  and  "thou  shalt  nots;"  it  was  quiet  and 
persuasive  and  all-conquering  like  the  sunlight.  He 
conquered  by  warmth  and  color,  by  radiating  and  illumi- 
nating. He  made  no  enemies,  because  he  obliterated 
the  battlements  of  those  who  would  fight  by  the  resistless 
impact  of  successive  installments  of  good  will.  He  was 
no  coward ;  he  was  not  without  deep  convictions,  but  he 
bombarded  that  which  was  low  with  that  which  was  high. 
He  put  those  who  opposed  him  out  of  business  by  think- 
ing at  higher  levels  than  they  were  mentally  able  to 
breathe  on,  as  Watt  put  the  stage  coach  industry  out 
of  business  by  converting  his  ideas  into  better  methods 
of  transportation. 

VII. 

His  aims  were  simple  and  his  consecration  to  his 
ideals  was  complete.  He  was  so  sweet  and  unpreten- 
tious however,  that  to  a  stranger  he  seemed  to  have  no 
aims  at  all.  He  never  referred  to  himself,  he  never 
asserted  himself,  he  never  advertised  himself.  No  man 
ever  wore  the  honors  that  unbidden  came  to  him  with  less 
seeming  self-gratulation.  If  he  had  received  notice  that 
he  had  been  elected  president  of  the  whole  world  of  let- 
ters, I  believe  he  would  have  responded  that  he  pre- 
ferred to  stay  in  West  End  and  look  after  his  garden. 
What  he  had  done  in  giving  the  world  his.  ideals,  he  felt 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris      101 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris      103 


Andrew  Carnegie  and  Joel  Chandler  Harris,  on  front  la-wn  of  Snap  Bean  Farm, 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris      105 

anybody  could  do,  if  he  would  only  practice  the  industry 
he  had.  He  told  me  one  day  that  every  young  person 
had  a  head  full  of  dreams  and  fancies,  and  that  the 
only  difference  in  persons  was  found  in  the  fact  that 
some  people,  by  hard  effort,  corralled  their  fancies  and 
dreams,  as  ranchmen  do  their  cattle,  and  others  did  not. 
He  said  any  person  could  write  an  interesting  book  if 
he  would  only  make  up  his  mind  to  be  himself  and  get 
at  it  and  stick  to  it  until  the  task  was  finished. 

VIII. 

Mr.  Harris  has  taught  us  the  pure  luxury  of  just 
living  in  the  completest  simplicity  one's  own  life.  He 
never  sought  honors,  or  money,  or  official  distinction. 
The  idea  of  maintaining  a  position  for  the  mere  show  of 
it,  the  idea  of  keeping  up  a  social  impressiveness  equal 
to  that  of  his  neighbors  was  utterly  foreign  to  him.  Life 
itself,  without  any  of  the  accompaniments  and  surround- 
ings which  usually  go  with  it,  was  to  him  the  center  of 
his  whole  philosophy  of  contentment.  Things  that  came 
to  him  as  part  of  the  pecuniary  reward  of  his  labors  he 
accepted  with  thankfulness  and  used  rationally,  but  not 
to  them  did  he  turn  as  reasons  for  solid  happiness.  They 
were  the  mere  scaffolding  of  his  real  life.  Hence,  he 
liked  simple  things,  old  things,  plain  things.  He  would 
have  preferred  a  street  car  to  an  automobile.  His 
luxuries  were  sunsets,  and  trees,  skies,  clouds,  common 
every-day  human  beings  and  little  children.  He  liked 
learning  as  long  as  it  was  not  pretentious.  He  liked 
scholarly  people  if  they  had  perspective  enough  not  to  be 
proud.  A  son  of  Adam  to  him,  whether  on  a  throne  or 


106  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

in  a  cottage,  was  a  son  of  Adam,  and  all  the  distinctions 
of  rank  by  which  men  divide  themselves  up  were  to  him 
artificial  and  mechanical.  He  enjoyed  sitting  down  with 
Mr.  Carnegie  under  a  tree  in  his  yard,  because  the  great 
philanthropist  was  a  simple  Scotchman  who  had  worked 
himself  up  from  a  mill  boy  to  a  king  of  industry. 

IX. 

He  was  uneasy  and  ill  at  ease  whenever  people  pro- 
posed to  meet  him  on  any  other  than  simple,  human 
terms.  If  they  came  announced  as  great  people,  to  see 
him,  an  author  of  world-wide  fame,  he  hardly  knew  how 
to  face  the  situation.  If  a  plain  Mr.  Jones  came  to  call, 
though,  in  fact,  he  might  be  the  president  of  a  railroad, 
or  an  owner  of  a  10-acre  farm,  he  was  grace  itself.  He 
was  perfectly  at  home  with  folks  as  long  as  there  was  no 
rattle  of  titles.  He  greatly  enjoyed  meeting  the  presi- 
dent because  Mr.  Roosevelt,  being  before  and  above 
all  things  else  a  genuine  man,  met  Mr.  Harris  on  the 
plain  terms  of  hearty,  robust  manhood.  It  was  surpris- 
ing to  him  why  people  wanted  his  autograph,  and  he  was 
a  little  slow  about  responding  to  such  demands.  Jahu 
Dewitt  Miller,  knowing  this,  was  accustomed  to  send 
any  of  Mr.  Harris'  books  in  which  he  wanted  the 
author's  autograph  to  me,  that  I  might  call  in  person 
and  secure  it.  On  one  occasion  a  couple  of  first  editions 
of  "Uncle  Remus'  "  came  to  me  with  a  letter  saying: 
"Please  go  out  and  see  Mr.  Harris  and  have  him  write 
some  aphorism  and  his  name  in  these  books,  and  send 
them  back  to  me."  I  called  and  said,  "Mr.  Harris,  a 
friend  of  yours  and  mine  wants  you  to  write  an  aphorism 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris      107 


7      fF*'~'  —  rurrm  "V-^J^^.  t 

/  ^ 

r/yC/s9i^*Jif^*^^^^  ^» 


Fac-simii'e  of  inscription  by  Joel  Chandler  Harris,  "written  at  request  of 
Jahu  Dt  Witt  Miller. 


108  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

and  your  name  in  each  of  these  'Uncle  Remus' '  books." 
He  looked  solemn  and  said,  "I  have  no  aphorisms."  I 
walked  up  to  him  and  said,  "Now,  please,  my  friend, 
don't  be  contrary  and  heady;  take  these  books  and  write 
in  them  at  once,  or  I'll  camp  out  here  in  front  of  your 
door  until  you  do."  He  took  the  books,  sat  down  by  a 
table  and  in  each  of  them  wrote,  "With  the  regards  of 
Joel  Chandler  Harris,"  and  then  underneath  wrote  this: 

"Oh,  don't  stay  long,  en  don't  stay  late — 
It  ain't  so  mighty  fur  ter  de  Goodbye  Gate." 

"Uncle  Remus." 

X. 

It  was  seemingly  a  mystery  to  him  why  every  person 
was  not  able  to  find  in  his  own  life  all  the  distinction  he 
wanted.  He  regarded  breathing  and  drinking  water  and 
walking  under  the  heavens  as  distinction  enough  for 
any  one  mortal.  He  did  not  understand  how  one  person 
could  get  any  significance  from  what  any  other  person 
could  give  him.  The  most  stupendous  significance 
imaginable  was,  to  him,  just  living.  With  life  one  had 
everything,  after  that,  all  was  incidental.  He  owned  a 
few  acres  of  ground  in  the  suburbs  of  Atlanta.  This 
was  outside  of  him,  and  well  enough  to  grow  "collards" 
on,  but  he  owned  a  plantation  inside  the  wide  reaches  of 
his  soul  extensive  enough  to  furnish  a  playground  for 
all  the  animals  in  creation. 

Mr.  Harris  has  taught  us  how  to  make  a  beautiful 
world  for  each  one  of  ourselves  by  idealizing  the  realities 
around  us.  He  was  never  satisfied  with  any  place  or 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Hams      109 


Joel  Chandler  Harris  and  Evan  P.  Hmuell.      Snap-shot  taken  on  plantation  of 

H.  M.  Comer,    Jefferson  County,  Georgia,  in  spring  of  1905, 

just  before  Captain  Ho-well  died. 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris      111 

situation  until  he  painted  it,  and  made  it  glow  with  the 
colors  of  his  own  spirit.  He  started  as  an  apprentice 
in  a  plantation  printing  office  in  Putnam  county.  Quite 
an  obscure  and  out-of-the-way  position,  you  say,  for 
putting  much  color  on.  But  when  he  left  that  printing 
office  he  had  made  it  so  beautiful  that  it  has  been  shining 
out  there  in  the  country  for  nearly  fifty  years.  His 
home  in  West  End  he  has  idealized  until  it  has  become 
the  most  beautiful  home  in  Atlanta,  and  people  from  all 
over  the  country  make  pilgrimages  to  see  it.  The  aver- 
age man  thinks  a  beautiful  house  is  something  external, 
but  there  is  no  genuine  beauty  in  any  house  or  in  any 
place  that  is  not  put  into  it  from  the  depths  of  some- 
body's soul.  The  cottage  in  which  the  poet  Burns  was 
born,  multiplied  by  the  spirit  of  Burns,  is  far  more  beau- 
tiful, and  attracts  thousands  more  of  sight-seers  than  the 
Taj-ma-hal  in  Agra,  India.  Mr.  Harris  has  practiced 
all  his  life  the  inner,  spiritual  method  of  making  things 
about  him  beautiful,  and  that  he  has  succeeded  far  be- 
yond the  rest  of  his  fellow-citizens  is  the  testimony  of  the 
world. 

XI. 

He  was  transformed  from  within  by  the  renewing  of 
his  mind  and  proved  by  the  test  of  personal  experience 
how  good  and  acceptable  and  perfect  the  interior  method 
of  transformation  is.  He  was  not  conformed  to  the 
fashion  of  his  age,  in  the  sense  that  the  outside  world 
forced  him  to  terms  with  its  passing  and  perishing 
affairs.  Instead  of  permitting  the  world  to  digest  and 
assimilate  him  he  followed  a  line  of  interior  activity,  by 
which  he  digested  and  assimilated  the  world.  Instead  of 


112  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

moving  with  the  current,  he  compelled  the  current  to 
flow  through  the  channels  of  his  thought.  Instead  of 
passively  domesticating  himself  at  the  level  of  things  as 
he  found  them,  he  resolutely,  by  the  activity  of  his  spirit 
set  about  lifting  to  a  higher  plane  the  world  in  which 
his  lot  was  cast.  Instead  of  accepting  standards  ready- 
made,  he  proposed  to  establish  new  ones  on  his  own 
account.  Instead  of  dancing  to  the  world's  music,  he 
gave  out  from  the  depths  of  his  soul  new  notes  for  the 
world  to  dance  to. 

XII. 

Mr.  Harris  was  a  deeply  religious  man.  As  the 
quiet,  silent,  sunlight  manages  to  embody  itself  in  all 
trees  and  flowers  and  animals  in  the  world,  so  the  religion 
of  Mr.  Harris  found  embodiment  in  all  his  writings  and 
in  all  the  relations  of  his  lif  e.  He  would  have  been  the 
last  man  to  claim  much  for  himself  religiously,  as  he 
would  have  been  the  last  man  to  claim  much  for  himself 
artistically,  but  all  who  associated  with  him  personally 
or  through  his  writings  knew  that  he  was  both  an  artist 
and  a  deeply  religious  man.  He  was  a  devoted  follower 
of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  He  told  me  not  long  ago  that 
all  the  agnostics  and  materialists  in  creation  could  never 
shake  his  faith.  But  he  would  have  felt  about  as  awk- 
ward in  proclaiming  himself  a  pattern  of  piety  as  he 
would  in  proclaiming  himself  a  pattern  in  literature. 

His  religion  pervaded  his  whole  life,  as  health  per- 
vades a  strong  man's  body.  It  was  more  of  an  atmos- 
phere you  felt  than  a  distinct  entity  you  could  describe. 
His  home  was  filled  with  it.  You  could  never  enter  his 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris      113 

door  without  a  sense  of  a  subtle,  genial  presence  resting 
on  everything  about  the  home.  Every  child  he  had  did 
seemingly  as  he  pleased,  but  grew  up  to  express  in 
orderly  conduct  and  attention  to  duty  the  sweet  music 
of  his  father's  house,  to  which  he  had  adjusted  himself 
almost  unconsciously.  He  seemed  to  be  regulated  by  no 
hard  and  fast  rules,  nor  did  he  seem  to  bring  those  about 
him  under  the  sway  of  hard  and  fast  rules.  His  rules, 
whatever  they  were,  were  broken  up,  and  diffused 
throughout  his  home,  which  he  and  his  family  breathed  as 
the  lungs  take  in  the  breath  of  the  morning.  As  he  lived 
so  he  died,  peacefully,  beautifully,  kindly,  humanly. 
One  of  his  sons  entered  his  room  when  his  feet  were  al- 
most on  the  brink  of  the  river  of  death,  and  said:  "How 
are  you  this  morning,  father?"  "Well,  I  am  about  the 
extent  of  the  tenth  of  a  gnat's  eye  brow  better."  His 
last  words  were  uttered  after  hearing  read  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Roosevelt  expressing  sorrow  at  his  illness.  "Tell 
the  President  that  he  has  been  very  kind."  So  Joel 
Chandler  Harris  passed  away  from  the  realm  of  shad- 
ows into  that  of  light,  with  the  feeling  that  all  the  peo- 
ple, from  the  President  down  to  the  poorest  man  he  had 
ever  met,  had  been  very  kind  to  him. 


The  Character  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris      115 


COPYRIGHT,  UNDERWOOD  4  UNDERWOOD. 

Joel  Chandler  Harris  at  jy,  at  work  in  his  home  in  Atlanta,  Ga.       Taken  in  igo6. 


IN  MEMORY 

OF 

JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 


JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 

BY  FRANK  L.  STANTON 

UMMER  is  in  the  world,  sweet-singing, 
And  blossoms  breathe  in  every  clod; 

The  lowly  vales  with  music  ringing, 
High-answered  from  the  hills  of  God. 

Yet  hills,  to  dream-deep  vales  replying, 

Sing  not  as  if  one  flower  could  die ; 
He  would  not  have  the  Summer  sighing 

Who  never  gave  the  world  a  sigh  1 

Who  heard  the  world's  heart  beat,  and  listened 
Where  God  spake  in  a  drop  of  dew; 

And  if  his  eyes  with  teardrops  glistened 
The  world  he  loved  so  never  knew. 

Its  grief  was  his — each  shadow  falling, 

That  on  a  blossom  left  its  blight; 
But  when  he  heard  the  Darkness  calling 

He  knew  that  Darkness  dreamed  of  Light. 

And  that  God's  love  each  life  inspires — 
Love  in  the  humblest  breast  impearled; 

He  made  the  lowly  cabin-fires 

Light  the  far  windows  of  the  world! 

He  dreamed  the  dreams  of  Childhood,  giving 

Joy  to  it  to  the  wide  world's  end; 
For  in  the  Man  the  Child  was  living, 

And  little  children  called  him  Friend. 


120  Memories  of  Uncle  Remus 

Not  his  to  stand  where  lightnings  gleaming 
Illume  the  laurel  wreath  of  Fame ; 

Sweeter  to  hear  the  roses  dreaming, 
And  in  the  violets  read  Love's  name. 

Love  in  the  winds  the  corn  blades  blowing; 

Love  where  the  brown  bee  builds  the  comb ; 
Love  in  the  reaping  and  the  sowing, 

Love  in  the  holy  lights  of  Home. 

A  life  faith-true — each  hour  unfolding 

A  kinship  with  a  life  to  be ; 
A  world  in  wonder,  when  beholding 

The  greatness  of  Simplicity! 

Wherever  song  is  loved,  and  story 

Cheers  the  world's  firesides,  there  he  dwells- 

A  guest,  regardless  of  earth's  glory, 
To  whom  Time  waves  no  sad  farewells. 

From  Life  to  Life  he  passed;  God's  pages 
Shine  with  his  name,  immortal  bright; 

One  with  the  starred  and  echoing  ages, 
A  brother  to  Eternal  Light. 


14  DAY  USE 

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